


come on, come on (before the moment's gone)

by citadelofswords



Series: come on, come on (before the moment's gone) [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Clubbing, F/F, F/M, Misunderstandings, Other, Rule 63, Tattoos, enjolras is here to be your avenging angel, enjolras is tired of this shit, feuilly is always away on business so cosette becomes Mom, it's okay to cry grantaire, when she's not busy smacking her head into things because her best friends are idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citadelofswords/pseuds/citadelofswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to get a tattoo,” Enjolras said. Combeferre, who was taking a deep drink, choked on it.</p><p>“A what,” Combeferre said, when she could talk again.</p><p>“A tattoo. Well, another one.”</p><p>“Another-?” Combeferre stared at her drink and then at her friend. “There is- What have I been drinking? This is too weird to be reality.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	come on, come on (before the moment's gone)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic the whole verse is named for. And it's... not... exR?
> 
> It's Courferre?
> 
> Oh, just read it. Unbeta'd mistakes are my own, whatever. (Why did I think I knew anything about getting a tattoo? We just don't know.) If I forgot to warn for something, tell me.

“I want to get a tattoo,” Enjolras said. Combeferre, who was taking a deep drink, choked on it.

“A what,” Combeferre said, when she could talk again.

“A tattoo. Well, another one.”

“ _Another_ -?” Combeferre stared at her drink and then at her friend. “There is- What have I been drinking? This is too weird to be reality.”

Enjolras turned pink. “I mean, it was an accident. I don’t like to talk about it. But I was thinking, maybe we could get one together? Me and you and Courf? Just a little one, nothing major.”

“I am not drunk enough for this,” Combeferre muttered, and put her head in her hands.

“I’m not drunk at all,” Enjolras said. Cosette appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her wrist. “What? I- I’m having a very important conversation right now, Cosette, what are you doing?”

“We are out clubbing and you are not dancing, Enj. I know you can, so come on!” Cosette tugged a still protesting Enjolras out onto the floor. Combeferre had barely a moment to recollect her thoughts before Bahorel slid into the vacated seat.

“Hey,” Combeferre said, and scanned the room. Grantaire had disappeared, presumably to smoke outside. Joly and Feuilly had both been busy, but Musichetta and Bossuet were out with Éponine and Jehan on the floor. Courfeyrac was in an opposite corner, talking to Marius, who’d had several drinks and looked at Courfeyrac like she was the prettiest girl he’d ever met… or maybe that was how Combeferre was looking at her. _Fuck_.

Bahorel followed her gaze. “You need to say something to her,” she said, over the thrumming bass. “You should tell her, before she follows through on that polyamory thing.”

“I can’t,” Combeferre confessed. She’d never outright confirmed it before, but if Bahorel knew that she was in love with her best friend, then everyone knew. “She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Bahorel lifted her hands. “What did Enjolras want?” she asked.

“She wants a tattoo. Another one, apparently, and she wants me and Courf to get one with her.” Grantaire came back into the club at the same time that Combeferre spotted Enjolras again, dancing with Cosette. She hadn’t quite gotten into the flow, but the intent was there.

“I know,” Bahorel said. “She came to me asking where I had gotten mine done. I gave her a place uptown. I think you should do it- she’s really not thinking of doing sleeves, or anything.”

Bahorel’s eyes kept straying to the floor, where Jehan was. The girl’s movement was as fluid as her poetry was, Combeferre noticed, and Bahorel almost looked hungry, staring at her.

“Go dance with her,” Combeferre said quietly. “I guarantee, she will not say no.”

“You really think-,”

“I know so, Bahorel. Now go, before I lock you two in a closet.” Combeferre said. Bahorel took a long drink and went to the dance floor. Combeferre took an experimental sip of the forgotten drink and found, to her surprise, that it was nonalcoholic.

Bahorel went right up to Jehan and tapped her on the shoulder. The tinier girl turned around, listened to what her friend had to say, and then grinned devilishly. Combeferre turned away from them to realize that Courfeyrac and Grantaire had settled on either side of her.

She was _so_ not drunk enough for this.

“Then have another,” Courfeyrac said, and Combeferre started upon the realization that she’d said those words out loud. “Here, have mine. I’ve had far too much already.”

“You sound tipsy,” Grantaire noted. It was so weird, seeing Grantaire refusing drinks at a bar. Combeferre hadn’t seen it for… for… a long damn time.

“Come on, come dance with me!” Courfeyrac yelled, as a particularly quick song came on, and the bass reverberated into Combeferre’s head.

At the last second, Combeferre dragged Grantaire in as well. The girl was a ridiculously good dancer. If only she and Enjolras would stop fighting long enough to do something fun together, like dancing. It would be the epitome of perfection.

“Don’t let R hear you say something like that,” Courfeyrac joked warningly, and Combeferre slammed her palm into her face in exasperation.

“I’m not trying to say these things out loud.” Combeferre retorted, even as Courfeyrac started to move her arms. “No, Courf, come on, let me go back to my chair!”

“Dance with me,” Courfeyrac said, and Combeferre’s breath caught in her throat as she felt herself being tugged forwards until they were pressed up against each other, Courfeyrac up in her personal space.

 _Do not think, do not think, you’re drunk, you’ll say something you’ll regret later,_ Combeferre begged herself.

 

* * *

 

Jehan was panicking, just slightly.

Over Bahorel’s shoulder, she could see Grantaire grinding up against another girl. If she wasn’t careful, Enjolras would spot her… although maybe that was for the best, because the times they fought in dance were some of the best arguments they ever had… or at least, the most entertaining.

Jehan wished she was Grantaire right now. At least Grantaire had some confidence. Jehan was just shy as hell, and Bahorel was probably drunk or high or something, because there was no reason why she should be looking at Jehan like that. It was a look of thinly veiled lust.

Jehan loved to dance so much that she didn’t want to leave. But if she didn’t leave, who knew what would happen? Hopefully, it would turn out the same way that awkward hookup with Courfeyrac had- in the morning, they’d woken up, laughed about it, and entered a friends with benefits partnership for a good year until they parted on good terms. Jehan knew, somewhere deep inside, that it was possible for this to turn into that.

But did she want it? Or did she want an actual Relationship, capital R? Marius was awkwardly flailing with Cosette, who had left Enjolras behind and was now showing him how to move patiently, a radiant smile lighting up her features. After the rally incident, they’d entered a Relationship. It was working for them.

“Jehan, you’re a million miles away again,” Bahorel said. “C’mon, show me what you got.”

The bass cut out abruptly. Everyone on the dance floor paused. Then, it turned weird.

“This isn’t a high school dance,” grumbled someone, as a slower song came through the speakers. “For fuck’s sake, this is a club.”

But slowly, people began to pair off. Enjolras left the floor when she spotted Grantaire and her mystery girl. Marius wrapped his arms tightly around Éponine, which was a surprise, but Cosette just stumbled off the floor with euphoria etched across her face.

“Do you want to leave?” Bahorel asked. “Or do you want to stay?”

“I’m…” Jehan lost her words.

“You can stand on my toes if you want,” Bahorel offered. “If that’ll make you feel less, you know, tiny.”

Jehan laughed. “Y-yeah, sounds nice,” she managed, and stepped up onto Bahorel’s feet to sway clumsily around.

“So, um…” she said.

“Are you busy tonight?”

“No.”

“Good. Do you wanna come home with me?”

“I- What?”

Bahorel stumbled momentarily. Jehan felt like she couldn’t breathe. “I- I mean, if you want. And before you ask, I haven’t drunk anything all night. Everything’s been non-alcoholic. Did you-,”

“No!” Jehan’s face split into a grin. “I’m finding myself really wanting to kiss you right now.”

“Oh really?” Bahorel leaned closer. “What if I dared you to?”

Jehan had never been one to turn down a dare.

 

* * *

 

Combeferre woke up with a wicked hangover, no clothes, and Courfeyrac tangled all around her, snuffling into her chest.

 _Shit._ Combeferre sat upright so fast she startled Courfeyrac, who jolted up. “Ferre?” Then, “Shit.”

Combeferre felt her heart plunge. “Did we-,”

“I think we did,” Courfeyrac groaned, and buried her head in her hands. “Can we just… Can we just forget this happened? Just pretend it didn’t? I mean, I don’t even remember it, it wouldn’t be hard. And you wouldn’t have to feel awkward. We’ll just… go back to the way things were.”

“Yeah.” Combeferre’s face was burning as she scrambled to find her shirt. “Yeah, we can forget about it.” _I don’t want to. I want to talk to you about it._ But Courfeyrac had made it very clear that she regretted the night before. Every moment, every word, every twist of her _fucking fingers,_ had been nothing but alcohol controlling her actions. Bahorel had been wrong- Combeferre had been wrong. There was nothing there. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she managed, and stumbled out of the room before she said something else stupid.

“I live here,” she said to herself, shook her head, and pulled on her pants.

“Ferre?” Enjolras asked behind her. Combeferre turned around. “What…”

“I do not want to talk about it,” Combeferre snapped. The sudden noise made her head spin. “I’m going to Cosette’s. I don’t know what to do.”

And with that, she slid her boots on and left the apartment.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras hesitantly tapped on the door to Courfeyrac’s room. “Courf?” she asked, and heard an answering groan from somewhere inside.

“You wanna talk to me? Ferre wouldn’t say anything.”

There was the sound of a grunt of assent, and so Enjolras pushed her way into the room. She was grateful to see that her best friend was at least wearing a shirt and underwear, but Courfeyrac’s head was buried in the duvet and her shoulders were shaking.

“I lied, I lied, Enj, I am so awful, but you should have seen her face when she woke up, she looked like the whole world had ended, so I told her I didn’t remember any of it and it wouldn’t be awkward.”

“What happened last night?”

“I… I dragged her out to dance with me, and she wouldn’t, so I jerked her close to me, and I could smell the alcohol but I didn’t care, I didn’t _care_ , and we were dancing and she started grinding, and I just… I just kissed her! And she kissed me back! And I thought there was something, but it was obviously all alcohol, and… God, Enj, I am such an idiot.”

Enjolras wanted to shake her best friend silly. _She was afraid of what you would say_ , she wanted to tell her. But that was not the route to take. Enjolras settled for wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Come on. Let’s make you some tea.”

 

* * *

 

When Enjolras reached Cosette’s, Jehan was there, weaving Combeferre’s hair into some intricate looking braid. Enjolras noticed the hint of a hickey poking above her scarf and allowed herself a small smile before she ventured into the place.

Combeferre looked up and she looked so small and terrified it almost broke Enjolras’ heart. “What did she say?” she asked, eyes huge and glassy.

“That’s between me and her,” Enjolras said carefully. “You need to talk to her at some point.”

“It’ll just be awkward,” Combeferre muttered, sinking back into her knees. Enjolras wanted to smack her on the back of the head for being so blind, but she restrained herself.

“Look,” she began, and hesitated. “This might be the worst time to do it, but I wasn’t kidding last night when I said I wanted a tattoo.” Combeferre looked up uncertainly. “I wanted to get a tattoo with the two of you, though. Not matching ones. Just… connected ones. Since you’re my best friends.”

“That’s so cute,” Jehan cooed. “Ferre, you should.” She finished off the braid and smoothed it down delicately.

“But if you two are going to be tiptoeing around each other, then maybe it isn’t the best time,” Enjolras said quickly. “I don’t want to make either of you uncomfortable.”

“I would love to,” Combeferre said. “Does… Does Courf want to?”

“She seemed willing,” Enjolras said, relieved. “I gave her the same spiel and she said she’d work out her issues with you for it.”

Combeferre nodded. “I think I could do the same,” she said, and a spark of hope flared deep in Enjolras’ chest.

 

* * *

 

That hope was quickly extinguished as Enjolras pressed her ear to their door to listen to their conversation. _Goddamnit,_ she thought, and slunk away. Hopefully, they’d figure everything out _soon._

 

* * *

 

“Right here,” Enjolras said, drawing a line across the top of her breast. Musichetta nodded determinedly.

“This is gonna sting, honey,” she said. “Brace yourself.”

“It tickles,” Enjolras said, and watched as Musichetta traced the lines of _Liberté_ on her skin.

“What’s your other tattoo?” Courfeyrac asked.

“None of your business,” Enjolras snapped.

“Chetta, tell me!”

“I didn’t know she had another tattoo,” Musichetta said, surprise lacing her words. “Who’d you go to?”

“Feuilly,” Enjolras said. “She’s excellent at it, but she’s busy today so I came to you. Jehan said you’ve got prettier script, anyway.”

Musichetta laughed. “Well, she wasn’t wrong,” she said. “All right, don’t touch it for a while, and keep it covered. Ferre?”

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Combeferre said. “Courf?”

“All right, I’ll bite,” Courfeyrac said, and settled herself neatly in the chair. Musichetta unbuttoned her shirt, but Courfeyrac was paying more attention to the door than to Musichetta’s marker tracing her skin. “You know that girl made me question my sexuality three times now?” she grumbled to Enjolras, in Spanish.

Enjolras was taken aback. “Really?”

“Really really!” Courf groaned, and shaded her eyes with her hands. “At first I thought I was hetero, and then Ferre made me realize… no, I wasn’t. And then Jehan explained the difference between sexuality and romantic orientation, and I realized I was asexual, but I was so stupidly far gone on her that when I woke up two nights ago I- I realized I wasn’t quite, I’m closer to demi than anything and _oh my god Enjolras what do I do?_!”

Enjolras, who was still slow in Spanish, took a moment to catch up. But by the time she had, Musichetta whispered, “Ferre!” and Courfeyrac loudly said, “So Aire has an art show, are you thinking of going?”

“Potentially,” Enjolras said, making a mental note to brush up on her Spanish. “I have a lot of work to do, I dunno.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes were still pleading. Enjolras had no idea what to say to her.

 

* * *

 

“Where do you think you lost it?” Cosette asked, as Bossuet brought out the coffee.

Grantaire was seated on her couch, hands shaking as though she’d run a thousand miles. “I was on the bridge, I think,” she said. “I was sketching the ducks on the water, and I looked away for a second to see where they all were, and when I went reaching for the box it was _gone._ ”

Cosette suppressed a sigh. “This is why you keep your backpack on your back, dear,” she said soothingly. “Was there anything valuable in it? Wallet, keys, phone, anything?”

“Valuable is the wrong word to use,” Grantaire snapped, eyes flashing. “None of that stuff matters. It’s the pencils, Cosette, the pencils are what matters.”

“I know, I know, shhhhhh.” Cosette wrapped her arms around Grantaire and hung on “It’s okay to cry about it, Aire. It’s okay, if you want to.”

Grantaire let out a little gasp and clutched at her shirt, but she didn’t cry. There was a faint knock on the door and Joly stood to open it. There, red hair curling over one shoulder, stood Enjolras, and she looked angry.

“My friends are idiots,” she said, and then spotted Grantaire. “Are you all right?” she asked, and moved forwards to kneel next to Grantaire.

“Lost my backpack,” Grantaire mumbled. “And all my pencils. I have to go back to painting, Enj, and it’s not the same.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, and tentatively offered herself for a hug. Grantaire surged out of Cosette’s lap and into Enjolras’ arms, who looked surprised and pleased for half a second before she turned her full attention to the hug.

“Her friends are idiots?” Éponine whispered. “What about her, eh?”

“What?” Cosette asked. Éponine growled, throwing her hands up, and vanished from the room.

 

* * *

 

The Musain that night was abnormally subdued. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were sitting on opposite sides of the room, sulking. Grantaire looked murderous in her usual corner, hands twitching with the lack of a pencil in it. Enjolras was just stretched across her chair, rubbing her eyes with her hands. She was absolutely exhausted from the stress of her two best friends acting so awkward around each other and bitching to her about their mutual problems that she barely had time for her work.

And when she did have the time for work, she spent about half of it thinking about Grantaire. Which was bizarre, because…

She liked Grantaire, she really did. She liked how they argued and how Grantaire laughed when she won contests against Bossuet and Joly. She liked how Grantaire could always drink Bahorel and Feuilly under the table, even though she didn’t necessarily like the drinking itself. She thought Grantaire’s art was beautiful and sometimes wondered if she would ever draw Enjolras. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, already beginning to grow in blonde again.

She was so stupidly far gone on Grantaire, and the girl didn’t even know it.

Enjolras was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t even notice that the atmosphere had changed until Éponine jabbed her in the ribs. Everyone in the room was staring at Jehan, who was biting her lip and shuffling her feet.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not bad. I promise. All will be explained.
> 
>  
> 
> [Come say hi.](http://citadelofswords.tumblr.com)


End file.
